


Psychosomatic (or The Haunting of Vision)

by AnontheNullifier



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Scarlet Vision Reunion, psychological turmoil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-14 20:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8027854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnontheNullifier/pseuds/AnontheNullifier
Summary: Vision believes he is being haunted by the memory of Wanda, so when he is given the chance to go to Wakanda, he hopes it eases the psychological turmoil caused by the fallout of the Accords.





	1. A Haunting in New York

Vision considers that he is being haunted. It is something he has been building up to for weeks, he just cannot determine the correct terminology for his experience. 

For instance, at the moment he is watching a horror movie with Rhodes. It has become an unspoken routine that they find each other late at night and sit in silence during the movie. Neither is sure who it is supposed to benefit, as they each believe they are only doing it to help the other. But though Vision knows that Rhodes is the only other person in the room, he can feel, not just simply imagine, but actually feel the presence of a body curled into his side. It takes an unnecessary amount of control to not wrap his arm around the specter. They have just reached the climax of the movie and as the killer jumps out of the shadows his arms prick with the concentrated red energy enveloping him from the side. 

But when he turns to sooth her, there is no body and no red cloud. 

This is not the first time such a haunting has manifested. 

 

It started three months ago when the news broke that his teammates had escaped the Raft. Vision, who would not openly admit it, was relieved to see the efforts had been successful. He assumed when they broke free that he would no longer feel the tightness in his chest at the guilt of putting them (especially her) in there. This was not the case. 

He was in the kitchen, working on a “fool proof” brownie recipe provided to him by Spider-Man via his aunt. As was the norm with his kitchen adventures, he had already placed all of the ingredients on the counter, grouped together by the order in which they were to be used. He reached towards a container with fine white granules. 

“That's not flour, Vizh.”

He picked up the container and examined it. “I see, this is sugar. Thank you. ” It was not until the words were out that he realized there was not going to be a response. Vision brushed it off as a brief auditory failure. He determined to run a system diagnostic test later that week. 

 

His daily game (or twenty, depending on his mood and the amount of people around) of chess was one of the few activities that still calmed his mind. Today he was recreating the first match he had ever played against her, which happened to be the closest she ever came to beating him based solely on the fact that she distracted him with so many questions and incorrect moves. 

The game is almost done when the white rook moves diagonally and he finds himself saying “You cannot do that. It can only move horizontally or vertically.” When he glances up at her he sees just an empty seat. Thankfully no one was nearby to hear his slip up. He moves all the pieces to their starting positions and decides that he may need to take a break from such activities. 

 

It is the worst in the middle of the night, when there is no chance of encountering anyone else. He has glided past her room fifteen times so far, the pull of his desire is so magnetic that he knows the next time he passes it that he will go inside. Vision stops in front of her door, head dipped down as he reaches for the handle. The irrational hope (this concerns him as well, the increase in irrational thoughts) is that each time he uses her door it will atone for all the times he simply walked through the wall. Even so, he braces himself for the impact of a pillow to his face, given that he forgot to knock and his propensity to walk in on her at the most inopportune times (“Vizh, how do you always know when I'm almost naked?” Her hand gently shoving him in what he perceives to be a teasing manner). Tonight, as with all of the other long nights since the airport, there is no pillow and no her. 

He admits to himself that it is shameful, the way he cannot stay away. But there is a certain comfort that comes from laying on her bed, surrounded by the items that she enjoyed so much. There is an ailment he has been researching called Phantom Limb Syndrome. When a person has a limb amputated, it is not uncommon to still report feeling pain and other sensations in the non-existent limb. It is hypothesized that the somatosensory cortex continues to send signals to those nerves while it reorganizes its neural structure to compensate for the loss. Vision begins to wonder if he is suffering from some sort of neural confusion at the loss of her. Because right now, if he stops thinking for just a few seconds, he can feel her fingers tracing the lines of vibranium on his chest. Yes, he believes instead of being haunted that his brain must simply be poorly re-adjusting to her absence.

There is a knock at the door and it startles him so much that he falls through the bed. “Vision?”

It is Rhodes. He considers the options: he either responds and his activities become known (with a psychological evaluation likely to follow to determine if he is malfunctioning under the language of the Accords) or he could simply travel down into the weight room. 

“Listen, Tony’s a bit incapacitated and I can't carry him. Your help would be appreciated.” 

Vision sighs as he opens the door and walks out to meet Rhodes. “I shall be happy to assist you.” 

They travel down the hallway, Vision slowly gliding next to Rhodes’ chair. He learned very early on that the worst thing he could do was take control of the chair, even if he believed it helped. Before they reach the kitchen, he is surprised to find himself being blocked by Rhodes. “Vision, if you ever need to talk through all of this, I know I'm no Sam,” (there is a tensely wound coil in his chest that loosens in relief when he does not mention her), “but I've seen the fallout of these sorts of things. It's hard on everyone. Sometimes it helps to acknowledge the pain.” 

Vision is unsure what to say. He considers thanking the man but worries if he does so then he admits to being mentally unstable. The sound of breaking glass saves him from having to respond as they both move towards the kitchen. He quickly subdues Tony and locks him in his arms. The man is chattering about Pepper and how she still refuses to talk with him. Vision simply nods in agreement with whatever he is saying as he carries Tony to his room. When he steps out he finds that Rhodes is waiting. 

“I'm serious, by the way. Let me know if you want to talk.” 

 

Two more weeks pass of the same, though he and Rhodes have now moved onto watching political thrillers as they both agreed that the gruesome variety of horror movies were not enjoyable. It happens again, honestly, it happens more and more and he cannot stop it. There is a weight on his arm and a feeling of fingers running along his neck. “Colonel Rhodes?”

“What’s up?”

“I am concerned for my mental well-being.”

To his credit, Rhodes remains calm, an action for which Vision is thankful. He pauses the movie and readjusts his body so that they are facing each other. “Alright, what’s going on?”

“I,” as he begins to form the words that he has so long forbidden to exist, Vision fidgets with his fingers out of nervousness, “I keep feeling and hearing her, though she is not here.”

“Wanda?” It has been almost eight months now since he has heard her name, even in his thoughts, and it causes his chest to constrict so that he can barely breath. Words are impossible for him and so he simply nods. “Okay, the hardest step is done. You’ve admitted a problem.”

“Now what?”

Rhodes’ mouth forms a straight line as he considers his next words. “Tell me more about it and we’ll see if it gets better simply by talking through it. If not, then we can look for a plan B.”

“Very well.” And so Vision recounts to him all of the times in which he experienced the phantom sensations of Wanda. With some prodding he talks about his own emotions and the crushing guilt he feels for his part in everything that happened. By the end of their talk, it is almost morning and Vision insists Rhodes get some sleep. For the first time since the airport, Vision feels just a small sense of relief. 

 

Tony calls all of the active Avengers to a meeting in the conference room. This is the first time they have met in this room since the passing of the Accords and the emptiness of the seats impacts everyone. “Okay team,” Tony refuses to sit, instead walking back and forth with an infectious nervous energy. “I've been in contact with Steve.” 

“Excuse me?” Rhodes’ face is a mixture of confusion and anger and it is quite apparent that he did not know of this previously. 

“Yeah,” Tony waves away the emotions being leveled at him. “He said that they have decided to be open to listening to options for amending the Accords.” He says more but Vision stops listening (though he records the soliloquy for later consideration). His thoughts are focused solely on the possibility that she may come back. Though he did improve after talking to Rhodes, he knows that he will never truly be rid of her and so has accepted a certain level of rumination as healthy. 

“What about Vision?” 

Vision looks quickly at Rhodes, who had just said his name. He realizes that he has no idea what has been said and why they are talking about him. Tony also seems confused. “What about him?”

“I just think that I'm not the best person to send. Vision can more quickly assess the language of the Accords and clearly has more logic in him than the rest of us combined. Might as well send him.” He thinks he may be imagining it but Rhodes winks at him. Perhaps he has miscalculated the level of friendship between the two of them. 

Tony now turns to Vision. “Well robo-son, what do you think?”

“I think,” he turns to Rhodes to assess his reaction and finds a smile and an under-the-table thumbs up, “that I agree with Colonel Rhodes. My deep understanding of all subsections of the Accords and my ability to remain objective and logical would be a great asset to the discussions.” 

That seems to seal the deal, and Tony gives him a look of approval . “Okay, Vision will go meet with our rogues,” Tony's face morphs slowly into a frown as his voice trails off with his next thought, “and hopefully not get distracted again.” It is a low blow, but Tony laughs at the awkwardness and leaves before anyone can comment. 

Rhodes approaches Vision once they are alone. “You really think you can handle this?”

“I will endeavor to do my best and I think it may alleviate some of my troubles.”

“That's what I was thinking. Just don't get in too deep, I don't want you coming back in worse shape.”

Vision studies the man in front of him, pinpointing the creases of worry that form around his eyes despite the fact that he is smiling at him. “I will alert you if I fear a regression of the issue.”

“Sounds good,” Rhodes claps a hand on his shoulder. “You'll do great.”

 

In Wakanda, Steve calls a similar meeting. Though they had discussed the possibility of amending the Accords, none of them actually thought it would be an option. Sam had initially thrown it out as a show of good faith towards their former teammates. A way to say “Hey, we want to come back but we still have concerns.” 

“They've agreed to send a representative to listen to our suggested reforms.” The faces around him range from curiosity (Scott of course, he is still figuring out the team dynamics and so this is simply an interesting development), to surprise (Sam did not expect anything but a no), to unbridled anger (Clint has yet to forgive Tony for the Raft). 

Sam recovers first, “Who are they sending?”

“Vision.” Steve can't help but to glance at Wanda when he says this and he is unsurprised at the way her already pallid face becomes whiter. Her black fingernails dig into the table and a subtle flow of red can be seen playing between them. There is, however, a brief smile that flirts with her lips before she goes back to her fairly constant look of displeasure. 

Clint joins Steve in watching her, concern bringing his brows down into a deep furrow. “So I take it there will be 24/7 security detail on Wanda?”

“I don't think that's necessary.” Steve pauses as he tries to figure out the concern. “Why would we need that?”

“Oh I don't know, having a robot who can get in anywhere and is near indestructible and who has betrayed her in the past. Who knows what he might do, you saw what happened to Rhodey.”

Sam stares in disbelief, “Come on, man.”

But it is Wanda who looks at him with so much fury, he scoots back from her. “I am not a child, Clint. If something were to happen I can protect myself. Or have you forgotten what I did at the compound?” Her anger fades a bit, though there is still the threat of red in her eyes. “Plus he will not hurt me, he did not intentionally hurt Rhodes, and lastly,” everyone leans in to hear her, as the volume of her voice slowly descends to a whisper, “he is not a robot.”

“What if he has a security detail, he's the odd one out, right?” They are not used to getting serious suggestions from Scott, but based on the general feel of the room and the shrugging of shoulders it seems to be okay with most of them.


	2. An Exorcism in Wakanda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vision arrives in Wakanda and must face his ghost while also remaining an objective voice in the Accord discussions.

Vision is unsure what to expect as he arrives in Wakanda. The jungle kingdom is vaster than he imagined and the architecture and technology that he is able to spy from the air is breathtaking. He hopes that he is allowed to explore the kingdom, but when the quinjet door opens and he is immediately surrounded by four members of the Dora Milaje, he knows that such freedoms will not be tolerated. T’Challa is the first to greet him at the bottom of the ramp. “Welcome to Wakanda, it is a pleasure to have you. Captain Rogers will inform you of the protocols you must follow while here.”

“Thank you, your majesty.” He glances past his security detail and sees his former teammates, minus Wanda. If the way his mind reels at her absence is an omen of this visit, he contemplates turning around and flying back to New York. But he must swallow his concerns and serve his duty. “Captain Rogers, it is good to see you again.”

The man, dressed in khakis and a t-shirt, walks up to him and shakes his hand. “Good to have you. If you'll come with me I can brief you on how we want this to go.” 

They pass everyone as they walk towards a room at the end of the hall. Sam gives him a quick “Hey man.” Clint glares at him, a threat evident in the way he toys with the arrow in his hands. The shrinking man waves at him with a big smile “I'm Scott! You flew through me, remember?” As he nears the door he feels a soft touch in his mind. He had hoped the phantom sensations would have gone away upon arriving here, but then he sees her standing in the shadows and realizes that this one is real. The look on her face is unreadable but he hopes that the gentleness with which she probes his mind means that she is okay with him being here. 

“Have a seat,” Steve gestures to a long conference table, taking the seat across from Vision. “I just wanted to cover some ground before everyone else comes in. First, I can’t speak for everyone, but I am really glad you’re here.”

“Thank you.”

“Second,” he glances around at the four bodyguards in the room, “I wanted to let you know that I have kept my word. None of them know. But, if things get too tense, I am going to have to tell them.”

Vision glances down at the table, nervous at the thought of such information getting out. “I understand. If possible, I would prefer to tell Wanda before she hears it in the group.”

“I don’t know if I can promise that, but I’ll do my best.” His smile is tight but genuine. “Have you heard from Nat at all?”

“Not since the Raft, no. I had assumed she would be here.” Vision watches as Steve shakes his head, worry seeping into his eyes. “She is a master spy, I am sure she will have no problem remaining undetected.”

“Right. Lastly, the team decided that it would be best to have you guarded at all times. Anytime we are not in an official meeting or other event which you have been invited to, you are to remain in the room that is provided.”

“I understand.”

Steve stares hard at him, making sure to emphasize the next point. “This means absolutely no phasing into anyone else’s room. You may have visitors but you cannot visit anyone. Clear?”

“It is as they say,” Vision indicates a pitcher on the table, “crystal.” 

The two men smile at each other for a brief moment before Steve stands and heads to the door. “I hope you’re ready for this.”

 

 

The rest of the group file in and take seats around the table. Steve and Sam are the only two that sit within three chairs of Vision. A dull ache forms in his chest as Wanda sits closest to the door. Her demeanor suggests that she is ready and willing to run out of the room at a moment’s notice. Vision consciously has to control his eyes so that he only looks at her every five minutes. 

Steve glances at everyone. “I think we can start.”

“Is Mr. Barnes not joining us?” It is evident that he has already crossed a line as he surveys the scowls on multiple faces. 

“I'm afraid that's classified for now.” 

“My apologies.” Vision had thought about how to proceed for most of the flight to Wakanda, though he also spent more time than necessary fretting over Wanda and if he should show up in her favorite sweater or save it for later in his visit. He knows that obsession to such minutiae is unhealthy yet he can not stop the thoughts. But he has to focus on the present now and not the way Wanda is scratching off her nail polish. “I was hoping to start by collecting the demands that are the most important to your acquiescence with the Accords. I will make a list and work on language tonight that we will discuss the next time we meet.”

She often joked that he acted and dressed too much like a professor, and now that they are staring at him blankly and no one is talking, he believes he knows how it must feel to be one as well. 

Luckily Clint starts the ball rolling. “Full immunity.” 

And the ball turns into an out of control boulder as everyone speaks at once. “Full protection for families of Avengers.”

“Increased discretion for the Avengers to determine their own missions.” 

“Government partnerships to rebuild communities.”

“Government accepting all responsibilities for any casualties.” Vision glances up at this one, successfully keeping his retort from coming forth. Wanda lets out a sound of disbelief and he knows then that she is reading him. 

“Miss Maximoff,” they finally make eye contact and he does not fully recognize the woman staring at him. “Did you have something to add?” She rolls her eyes at him and moves to stand up from the table. 

“How about easier access to visas for those who are foreign and the admittance of personhood for those they perceive to be less than human.” And she leaves. 

Steve smacks his lips together before standing as well. “I think we will call this a productive first session. We’ll meet again tomorrow to hear what you think.” He nods to everyone around the table as he finishes “If you have any other thoughts, you all know where Vision is staying.” 

 

 

T’Challa personally escorts him to his room. Vision is relatively certain that they take a more meandering path than necessary in an attempt to disorient him to where the others are lodged. “I do hope you find the accommodations acceptable. Since you will be spending a great deal of time in them, I believed it was pertinent to give you large quarters.” He opens the door and Vision is struck by the sheer luxury of the room. There is a large canopy bed, several chairs big enough for at least two people, a couch, a majestic wooden desk, and three dressers. To the right he can see a balcony which overlooks the jungle. 

“I believe it may be too much.”

The man beside him laughs and walks to a side door and opens it. “Since I was told you do not sleep and are a voracious reader, I asked our national historian to bring an assortment of books detailing our culture. If you desire anything else, simply ask one of the Dora Milaje stationed outside. Have a good night.” 

He spends the next several hours drafting language that encompasses the items mentioned at the table. For the past hour he only considers Wanda’s words. It has bothered him, since the first time they were handed the Accords, how he is spoken of within them. The document is laced with threats to decommission him if he malfunctions. He remembers coming across a phrase once, mechanistic dehumanization - the notion that some people are perceived as machines and not actually human. But, he thinks, at least they have the chance to be thought of as human. 

Deciding that he needs a break, Vision walks onto the balcony. Though it is dark he can hear the jungle pulsating with life. It is so enthralling that he does not realize he is floating towards it. 

“I wouldn't do that. The weapons here can actually hurt you.”  He slowly returns to the balcony, eyes downcast as he is afraid to stare at her. “That color’s good on you.”

He watches as she folds her arms across her chest and leans her back on the railing, the wind blows her hair in a mesmerizing pattern. “I am glad you approve.” There is a large part of his mind that screams at him to stop talking, in case someone sees him conversing alone and reports his unusual behavior. The way she looks at him is still unreadable, though her head tilts to the side in what may be concern.

“You are unwell.”

It is a statement of fact, not a question and her presence in his mind muddles his perceptions of reality. “It has been a psychologically trying time.”

“You think I am a ghost?” The corners of her mouth drop as she delves deeper into his mind, but when he flinches at her intrusion, her eyes grow wide and the connection is severed. “Vision…” the way her dress moves draws his eyes away from the concern on her face. He determines the pattern of its movement and catalogs it. Suddenly he can feel a hand on his face, drawing it up the miniscule amount needed so that he can look into her eyes. “I am real, you can say my name.”

“Wa-” though Rhodes had spoken with him at length about her, he stills finds the use of her first name troublesome. “Wanda.” She smiles up at him, gentle and reserved, not quite the carefree look she once gave him. “I have missed you.”

Her eyes harden momentarily before she whispers, “Then why did you not come for me?” 

It is a topic that he knew would be breached, though in this moment, he wishes desperately to avoid it so that he may hold on to her smile for a bit longer. “I did all that I could, but the Accords could only afford me so much action.”

“You did what you could?” And the smile has been replaced with a scowl as she steps away from him. The area where her hand had been feels bitterly cold. “You put me in the Raft, handed me over when you could have flown us far away, and then you never came.” 

“I asked for permissions to visit and they were denied.”

“You can walk through walls.”

The way her voice is escalating he knows soon she will be yelling and he is concerned to draw too much attention from the guards stationed around him (two outside the door, two on the roof, one on each side of the balcony on the ground, and one in each adjacent room). “Wanda, I did not simply do nothing.”

She shoves him then, not hard and not to cause violence but in frustration at what she believes to be a lie. “Sulking counts as nothing.” The wind whips her hair as she turns to leave.

“Wanda,” though he says it with a pleading tone for her to stop, she continues to walk away. “Did you not consider how Steve, who is incapable of using the television remote, was able to break into the most technologically advanced prison ever made?”  She stops. “How someone was able to shut down the core processor of the prison without being detected?”  She turns around to stare at him, a mix of disbelief and anger on her face. “After he got you out, he cut all communication. I was uninformed of your final location after the Raft.” 

“That is a big story.”

Vision understands, if he had not lived through it, not been questioned for four straight days after, he too may not believe it. “You can ask Captain Rogers. He will corroborate my story.” 

“I will.” She walks to the door, hesitating halfway through. “I missed you too, you know.” And she is gone. 

 

 

The next day he is escorted to the conference room before anyone else arrives. As he sets up his carefully written notes into piles based on topic he can sense someone else enter. “Good morning, Clint.” The man only glares at him as he sits at the other end of the table. Vision is not usually one to feel awkward with silence, but the way he is being studied causes him to need to fill the void somehow. “I am sorry, for attacking you at the compound. I truly wish I had acted differently.”  Clint scoffs at him and resumes his silent staring contest. It's only when they can hear other people outside that he speaks. 

“Just stay away from her, you've harmed her enough as it is. No need to hurt her more.” Sam and Scott walk in before he can respond. 

“Morning, Vision.” 

He goes to reply but is instantly distracted by the entrance of Steve and Wanda. They appear to have just finished a conversation, Steve muttering something along the lines of “Sorry I never told you,” and Wanda smiling at him and telling “I'm glad to know now.” Vision hopes they have spoken about what he told her the night before, and he takes it as a promising sign when Wanda sits one chair closer today. 

Vision glances at their faces, attempting to gauge their readiness. “I believe the first discussion today should be on immunity. As I believe that concern, above all others, is not only most important to you but also may be the most difficult.” There are a few nods, some blank stares, and then Wanda, whose eyes have not left him since she sat down. There is something in her gaze that he is unsure how to interpret but he knows he cannot do his duty and focus on her the entire time. “I have immersed myself into the literature on war crimes and-”

“Excuse me?” This surprisingly comes from Sam. He had expected opposition from Clint, but there is real anger on the typically jovial man’s face. “We did not commit war crimes.”

“Though I tend to agree with you, I am striving to view our conflict from the perspective of the UN since they must accept these ratifications to the Accords.” Vision is concerned at the way he feels compelled to nervously shuffle through his papers. He must continue but her constant gaze is his undoing. “To them what we did in fighting each other, and what was done by you in actively opposing the Accords, is similar to the concept of war.” 

“Bull shit.” “I can't believe we thought you'd help.” “We're not criminals.”

Steve holds up his hands, quieting the sudden onslaught of outbursts. “I don't like the terminology either, but let's at least hear him out.”  

Vision nods at Steve before continuing. “I am aware that none of us view what happened as a true war, but I assure you that the interrogations and strict rules that were imposed on those of us that signed the Accords suggests that our interpretation is not considered. For instance, I was not permitted to leave the compound unless I had ten Marines with me. They only permitted me to come here with the threat that if I do not return, they will track me down and decommission me on the spot. They view it as a war.”

Clint crosses his arms and brings his feet onto the table in a show of defiance. “So what do you suggest, oh wise sage?”

“A call for amnesty.”

Her eyes still do not leave him but she finally speaks. “That is what they gave to the rebels that fought to overthrow the Sokovian government. It means they would forgive us of our actions, yes?”

Since she has finally spoken, he takes it as an opportunity to make eye contact. “That is mostly correct. Amnesty can be given to groups of people that have committed acts against the government that are considered criminal. Though it is still acknowledged that these actions occurred, the sovereign government entity then decides that it is best to move forward without pressing any charges. Thus it could be construed as forgiveness, but typically it is viewed as simply a way to mend the broken relationships.” Sam coughs and Vision realizes then that he is only speaking to Wanda and so he overcorrects for his misstep by making eye contact with everyone for longer than is socially acceptable. 

“Can they forget about all crimes ever committed?” There is hope on Scott’s face that is so unbridled Vision considers lying about the answer. 

But he must remain objective. “Unfortunately it is only for the crimes the government chooses, so I doubt all other crimes would be forgiven.”

“Damn.”

Clint shakes his head as he leans further back in his chair. “Yeah, this all sounds fine and dandy, but I don’t think it’s quite what we mean by full immunity. I don’t think we did anything wrong, so why should the implication of wrongdoing still be there. But I guess you didn’t do anything wrong so you don’t see why it is an issue.”

“I do not believe I follow. We all, both sides, committed actions that are viewed unfavorably.”

“Listen, clearly you are just a leech on Tony’s back. If he told you to kill us all right now, you’d do it because it was an order from the Accords. That’s logic for you.”

Wanda’s eyes finally travel away from Vision in order to bore into Clint. “He too would be seeking amnesty.” Silence falls on the room, as everyone glances at her: Steve with concern in his eyes, Vision’s gaze is gripped with fear, and everyone else is simply confused. “Vision helped break us out of the Raft.”

The first to recover is Sam, who looks down at his folded hands and then nods his head as he smirks up at Vision. “This true?” With everyone looking so intently at him, Vision can only nod his head in affirmation. “Does anyone on your side know?” Vision shakes his head in the negative. “Well alright then, let’s talk about amnesty.” And no one objects, for now.

 

 

The talks continued for several more hours as the group worked through the linguistics of their request for amnesty. As he returns to his room, Vision finds himself exhausted but also relieved to know that the information of his actions helped facilitate the talks. He walks into the small room attached to his and begins to peruse the various books that were brought for him. Given his current situation, he finally decides to grab one detailing the history, training, and standing of the Dora Milaje. It is while reading about the numerous ways the women have been trained to disembowel an enemy (which involuntarily makes his abdomen clench) that there is a knock at the door. It is two in the morning so he had assumed there would be no visitors for the evening. “Please come in.”

Instead of it being one of the guards checking on him (as they do at every 27 minute interval), he is surprised to see Wanda sliding through the door.  There is an air of nervousness to her and a shyness in the way she is gripping a box to her chest as she walks over to the bed where he is lounging. Vision moves to get up but she waves away his action. “Stay comfortable,” she says as she sits cross legged on the bed across from him. It is a much larger bed than either of them had at the compound, but he notices that it does not make her sit any further from him than she usually would. “I realized I wasn’t going to be able to sleep until I talked with you.”

Vision is caught off guard by the fact that Wanda is sitting in front of him in pajamas and bare of any makeup. He so rarely saw her like this before, only those nights when he would cradle her after a nightmare, that all he can think about is how beautiful she is no matter the situation. He finally realizes that he should respond. “What is it you would like to talk about?”

“Us.” She smiles nervously at him. “But I figured we may want to have some distraction so it doesn’t escalate past what we are comfortable with, and so,” she opens the box in her arms and gently places a chess board on the bed, “I figured we could play chess while we talked.”  Vision helps her set up the pieces, he makes sure that she gets the white set and he the black, and then allows her to start. She glances over her pieces and selects a pawn. “I appreciate that you helped with the Raft breakout, but there are more issues we need to discuss before we can move on from the whole thing.” 

It is his turn now and he too selects a pawn, consciously deciding to make this game last as long as he possibly can. “What would you like to discuss first?”   

“Let's start chronologically. I,” she selects her next piece and contemplates where it should go, moving her hand back and forth with indecision. “am still upset that you went along with the plan to keep me in the compound, not only against my will but without discussing it with me first. Why didn't you just tell me?”

He waits until she decides the placement of her piece before he grabs a knight and twirls it in his fingers. “When Mr. Stark suggested you be kept at the compound, I volunteered to be the one to stay with you as I thought it would make you more comfortable.” His eyes glance up at her to assess her mood, it is neutral but he can tell that how he proceeds next could edge it to unpleasantness. “At the time I believed it to be logical, that if you simply stayed at the compound then no one could get to you. The world governments had called for you specifically to be brought to justice and I-” he finally decides on his move, “believed that I could protect you best by following Mr. Stark’s plan. But in retrospect, I wholly regret not informing you of it until you tried to leave.” 

“I am not a child to be kept in my room.”

“I am fully aware of that and it was never my intention. Though I understand how you could perceive it as such.”

“It just, it,” she breathes out, collecting her emotions as she begins her turn, “I felt utterly betrayed. The dinner you had made was such a wonderful gesture, but knowing it was a facade to cover my imprisonment, it broke my heart and my trust in you.” 

When she looks into his eyes, he can feel the way his actions tore down the trust they so carefully built. He begins to worry that this conversation is going to make him watch as every level of their relationship is decimated until they reach the foundation. Only then will they figure out if it is cracked or has withstood their destructive behaviors. “I know it will not change what happened, but I had been planning dinner since before Lagos was ever a mission.”  He notes how the corner of her mouth slightly raises and it is enough for him. “May I talk about my perception of the rest of that night?” 

“Of course, this is not just for me.”

“I have considered every possible outcome of that night almost every day since it happened. And,” Vision almost forgets that it is his turn and so he quickly grabs a piece from the board, “I have never figured out why we could not have simply talked about your desire to leave and reached a mutual decision on the next action.”

She answers him in a tone that implies there is an obvious answer. “Well when you had Clint in a chokehold it was not really the most conducive environment for logical discussion.”

“It is a fair point,” and one he thought about more often than he wanted to, “and I sincerely regret my actions. Though I had just been led on a,” he waves the rook in his hand around as he thinks of the phrase, “wild goose chase around the compound, been electrocuted, and watched as you hesitated to go with him. My concern was that he was coercing you to leave.” 

Wanda does not speak for several minutes and it has him worried. When she finally does, the trepidation in the way her voice shakes catches him by surprise. “What did you think, about what I did to you next?”

The memory bursts forth in his head and he can feel the Mindstone ache at the thought of being controlled again. His arms begin to feel heavy and he worries that he will descend into the floor simply from remembrance. It is only her voice that breaks his daze. 

“You can't do that.”

Vision freezes with his hand hovering the piece above the board. His mind has been so preoccupied trying to form an answer that he is unsure what she is talking about. “Pardon?”

“The rook,” Wanda points at the piece in his hand. “It can only go forward or to the side. Remember you lectured me for 20 minutes once due to my ‘egregious misconduct’ in the game?” 

“I,” his mind is having difficulties simultaneously processing the original question, the memory of that speech with the memory of her ghost making the mistake, and the realness of her right now. “I apologize.”

“Vision,” he glances at her while placing his rook in an appropriate position. “How much did I hurt you? Tony, he mentioned at the airport that I hurt your feelings.”

This event, amongst all of them, is one of the two that has led to the most distress. “You spoke of betrayal before. I,” he told Rhodes about this, but he feels that more candor is required now though it hurts worse to do so, “was not in physical pain, very much. But to know that I had recently confessed to you my fear that the Mindstone controls me, it felt as if you were manipulating my very soul. You simply could have made me let go of Clint, told me you were leaving, but you buried me ten stories into the ground. I could not emotionally function enough to leave that hole for several hours.”

He notices water falling onto the board and he first glances at the ceiling to make sure there is not a leak. The ridiculousness of this dawns on him as he finally looks to Wanda, who is silently shedding tears as she picks up her next piece. He desperately wishes that he could reach out and comfort her, but, unless he has misread the situation, this is not the time to comfort but the time to process all information and then decide if comfort is desired.  Her next words are whispered and he can only hear them thanks to his increased auditory abilities. “Is that why you gave me to the Raft?”

Now he does reach out, gripping her hand between both of his. “No, when I apologized to you, I also forgave you. I could not stay mad at you.”

“Then why?”

And he must now consider the moment in time (approximately three minutes, to be exact) that he believes most impacted his psychological health for the past eight months. “I believe...I believe it was fueled mainly by my guilt of hitting Rhodes. To have you injured in my arms and Rhodes incapacitated, it disoriented my thoughts.  When I looked up and saw 50 guns trained on us, for some reason I never considered that I could fly away or simply change my density to take the bullets. I truly believed that I had no other choice.” She has not made a sound or acknowledged what he has said, and so he finds that he keeps the confession going. “That decision continued to impact me, I developed psychosomatic symptoms where I perceived you to be near me. I,” she finally looks at him, “I felt you curled into my side, I heard you when you were not there, I spoke to the air as if it was you, and I spent so much time in your room I believed you were there with me. I dipped into psychosis due to the stress and guilt of what happened.” 

Wanda stares at him, mouth slightly agape, and he fears that he has inadvertently shattered whatever flimsy foundation was left between them. His instability was alarming before, but telling her that she was the ghost that haunted him makes him realize just how concerning it truly is for someone as powerful as himself. Perhaps he should be decommissioned. And then her arms are around his shoulders and her hair cascades over his face as she cries. Hesitantly he brings his arms around her waist and they simply exist as one for a period of time.  

When she finally pulls away there is a miniscule smile on her lips. Begrudgingly he lets go of her and watches as she takes her seat, hands wiping away the remnants of tears. “I am sorry. For everything”

“As am I.”

She resumes the game, and they play several rounds in silence, waiting until they are both better composed to continue. 

“What do you want now? Why are you here?” There is a strain to her voice and the way her body is held so rigidly means that she is anticipating a certain response. He only hopes the truth is what she desires. 

“I wish only to bring you home.”

She gives him a small smile before moving her next piece. “I know you are working hard to get us all back, it is appreciated by almost everyone.”

“I think you misunderstood the plurality of the ‘you’”

Wanda turns her face up at him, shock and something else, something more dangerous for his objectivity on her face. “You know you could have captured my queen last time.”

“Yes, but I can only concentrate on one at a time.”

For the first time in too long he hears her laugh, and it is a strange sight, to see her laughing with the lines of her tears still fresh on her face. “Vizh! That was so bad. How long did it take you to think of that line?”

He cannot help the smile growing on his face. “I have been able to take your queen for 5 turns, so…”  As her laughter fills the large room, he is confident that they have finally reached their foundation and discovered that it is intact. Now they must rebuild the house upon it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time be prepared for fluff, because I'm done with angst (mostly).


	3. Reparations For Time Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the discussions of the Accords comes to a close and Vision is faced with returning to New York, he and Wanda must figure out where they stand.

Despite Wanda not leaving until six that morning, she is the first to walk into the conference room after him.  There is a friendly smile on her face as she takes the seat immediately to his left. “Morning, Vizh.”

“Good morning, Wanda. Were you able to sleep at all?” He watches the tips of her hair stir as she shakes her head. “Perhaps tonight will be more restful.”

They sit in a companionable silence as she drinks her morning tea, a ritual he has always tried to honor. While he shifts through his papers, she leans over to see what they will be talking about. “I don't know how you keep this all straight.”

Vision considers how to answer, as he has never thought much about his ability to organize information and is unsure how to describe it. “You may look, if you would like.”

“Are you sure?” He nods at her. Though it is unnecessary, she brushes her fingers along the top of his hand and a brief burst of red connects with his skin. As she delves deep into his mind, he cannot help but smile at the sensation of her curiosity. It is to her credit that she does not jump, because when the door opens and Sam walks in with Steve, Vision’s muscles clench imperceptibly in surprise.  
  
“Morning Vision, Wanda.” As everyone else crawls in (he suspects they have not had many successive early morning meetings), he can feel a thought being projected into his mind _You’re a bit jumpy there_. There is teasing behind the words despite the fact that she is sitting serenely at the table, sipping her tea.

Steve glances around at the tired faces before opening the meeting. “So, what is on the docket today?”

“I have written up an item on family protection, which needs to be either approved or amended to reflect what provisions are needed.” He collects the first stack of papers and hands it out to the table. “As you can see it is a general call for the personal lives of the Avengers to remain classified from everyone, including the immediate supervisory board. This would leave disclosure of personal matters up to individual Avengers. Additionally, if personal matters are found out or made known, it would require paid relocation of the family or individuals in case of hostilities or threats. FInally, this is extended to any personal life matter, including dating,” Vision can not help but notice the way Wanda eyes him, by the way Steve raises his eyebrows, neither can he. “Marriage, divorce, siblings, or other biologically or non-biologically related individuals.”  

Scott holds the paper in his hands, fingers crinkling it into shockwaves of creases. “So, it would be completely up to me if the government knew about my daughter?”

“That is the idea, yes.”

“What about paternity and maternity leave, how would we still legally get those without disclosing?” Clint has so far kept his feet off the table and is studiously leaning forward so that his elbows are bent at twenty-five degrees. The seriousness on his face is a welcome change from the anger the day before.

Vision shuffles through his stack of papers before finding what he wishes to confirm. “There could be a creation of an ambiguous personal leave time, that could be used for any personal matter. This would be housed within the Avengers. Unfortunately that is starting to veer out of the purview of the Accords, but I can certainly add a sentence detailing it, if that is acceptable?” He glances around at the table and assumes that the subtle nods of everyone indicates this item is complete. “This brings us to the next item: Increased discretion.”

“We want more.” Sam winks as he says it.

In an effort to temper future arguments, Vision gently begins the conversation. “I do wish, at this point, to bring to your attention that the desire for more discretion is counter to another item on your list, which is reduced accountability for the Avengers when it comes casualties.”

No one responds to his statement. As Vision looks around the room he finds most of their faces in contemplation, minus Scott who is voraciously eating a muffin. It is Clint, of all people, who finally responds, his lower lip raised slightly in a manner to suggest that he is not displeased. “Makes sense, the more discretion we have the less the government is involved, the less the government is involved the less we can ask them to be accountable.”

“I believe that was the entire purpose of the Accords, to hold us accountable. How would this change what is already written?” There is continued silence as Wanda waits for someone to clarify the matter. Vision stays silent. He has determined that the matter of discretion should be broached amongst the group so that he does not unravel everything they have already accomplished. But, if he had to admit it, willfully not answering Wanda’s question is bothering him a great deal.

“Maybe we rewrite the sanctions of accountability,” Sam spins the paper in front of him as he talks, the rotation of the item seeming to fuel his thoughts. “Maybe instead of straight to criminal accountability, it is some sort of tiered system based on all of the factors at play. Like in Lagos,” Wanda still winces at the mention of the event. “Yeah, shit went down, but the factors that went into the final outcome were, for the most part, out of our control. But if we had gone into Lagos and just decided to level a couple of buildings to take down a jaywalker, there should be some serious sanctions.”

“I believe this falls under the notion of proportionality.” They all turn their eyes to Vision. “Currently the Accords call for the notion of equality. That is, any casualty must be viewed the same and receive the same sanction, but under a theory of proportionality, any sanctions would be calculated based upon the magnitude of the accountability. As Sam pointed out, if the situation was completely under our control and we simply were negligent, then sanctions would be higher, particularly for a higher level of destruction. But, if an event is difficult to control and we simply acted in a way to reduce the number of inevitable casualties, then sanctions would be lower.”

They all look to Steve to gauge his reaction. After several minutes he begins to slowly nod his head. “I think it makes sense. Add to it our call for government programs to help rebuild communities and it should allow us freedom while keeping both us and the government accountable.” As Vision jots down a note to merge the two concerns he stops listening to what is being said since it does not apply to the discussion at hand.

“Vision,” he glances up as Wanda says his name, “You want to join us for lunch?” Her smile clearly suggests he should say yes, but he surveys the rest of them to ensure he is actually welcomed. Everyone but Clint has some level of friendliness on their face.

“That would be nice, yes.”

 

Vision is expecting to walk into a grand hall for lunch but is surprised to find that they eat at a small table located in an open-air room overlooking a waterfall. He hesitates to take a seat, knowing how particular humans can be about routine seats for eating, and so he hovers close to the ledge where he can observe the jungle. A hand finds his and draws him to the table. “You can sit down you know.” Wanda smiles at him as she pulls him into the chair next to her. Clint grunts and eyes him suspiciously.  

Lunch goes as he anticipates, with Sam and Scott one upping each other with the stories they tell. It has been a long time since he has heard so much laughter and companionship. At the compound it is always silent, except for the few times a day he and Rhodes greet each other. “So Vision,” Scott waves a half eaten chicken leg at him. “Do you not eat?”

“My body does not require sustenance, so I do not consume food, as I feel it would be wasteful.”

“But you can taste it?”

“Yes.”  

Scotts nods and takes a bite of the chicken leg. “Does that mean you don't go to the bathroom?”

He would like to say it has been a long time since he answered these questions, but the last Accords interviewer was quite curious as well. “Correct.”

“That's convenient, my suit is a pain whenever I have to go.” Scott goes back to eating and Sam begins to tell the story about how Scott desperately needed to go the bathroom during the last field training and had to be helped out of his suit. It is in the middle of this that Scott drops his food and stares at Vision. “So, does that mean you don't have…”

“Scott!” Silence falls as Wanda glares at him  “Have some manners.” The deep blush that spreads across her face encourages a couple of snickers from the table.

Sam places his food down and stares at Wanda until she makes eye contact. The predatory grin on his face is clearly putting her on edge which confuses Vision even more than Wanda’s outburst. “Like you've never been curious. Or don't you remember the fateful night of the Asgardian grog?”  The entire table (minus Scott and Vision) groans at the mention, Clint and Wanda in particular inch down in their seats.

Steve frowns at the remembrance. “Please, I have tried to forget that night ever happened.”

“Oh, tell me more!”

Sam smiles at Scott and loosens up his shoulders in order to properly tell the story. “So it all started when Clint over here found a hidden stash of Thor’s liquor.”

Clint shrugs at the accusation. “Hey, you all encouraged me to open it, don’t act like it's all my fault.”

“So he opens it,” Sam picks up from where Clint left the story hanging, “and we all decide to try it, figuring that it can’t be that strong. Well then shit got real weird real fast.”

Scott is huddled close to the table, face sandwiched between his palms, and Vision considers that he may possibly be a child in the body of a grown man. “How weird?”

“Well this one,” Sam points to Wanda’s still flushed face, “walked around telling everyone how that night, once Vision got back, she was going to ask him once and for all to answer the question we all had been wondering. Of course, due to the very strong alcohol, we all encouraged it.”

Steve shakes his head at the story, glances at Wanda’s increasingly red face, and lifts his hand to stop it. “You know Sam, I seem to also remember you and Clint building a fort.”

“Hey, it was a birds nest.”

“A birds nest on the stairs and refusing to let anyone join the Bird Bros group. We all did stupid stuff that night, which is why I dumped that liquor down the drain the next morning.”

Everyone sits in silence picking at their food since the fun was shut down. But Vision notes how Scott seems unable to sit still, a question plastered to his face as he looks to Wanda. “But did you ever find out?”

Wanda shakes her head, which leads Vision to wonder at her actions as he perfectly remembers that night. “But you-”

“Vision!” Wanda’s face blanches as it falls into her hands.

The glass that Sam had been holding clinks as it hits the table. “Wait, what? She said she didn’t.” Sam turns to stare at Wanda, “You've known this whole time?”   

Now that he has revealed the truth he feels like he must tell an abridged version of the story, lest they think something indecent occurred. “When I returned from my meeting with Dr. Cho, all of you were quite inebriated. I took Wanda to her room and she asked me. I answered, gave her water and left.”

“Well,” Steve pushes back his chairs and stands. “I hate to end the fun but I have a meeting with T’Challa. You all make sure to get in your workouts. Vision, we will see you tomorrow for discussion of our final point.”

The topic of conversation moves on (much to Wanda's relief) as the rest of the group finishes their food and leave for training. Vision, now surrounded by his ever present guard, watches as they walk away. He can faintly hear Scott and Sam begging, “Please just tell us!”

 

Upon his request, Vision was allowed to move some of the furniture to the balcony so that he could work while surveying the jungle below. Work, however, was progressing much slower than he had planned. There was a panther roaming the tree line below, presumably hunting for its next meal. He had never seen such an animal, in fact, he had only seen most animals in pictures or shows. Those mediums did not do justice to the power of the panther.

“She's beautiful, isn't she?”

“Magnificent.” He invites the man to sit on the other chair with a wave of his hand. “Does she often walk so close to people?”

T’Challa joins him in staring at the panther, a gentle lift to his lips as he answers the question. “My people call her The Queen. We have a legend here that when a warrior dies their spirit selects an animal to  reside in until they feel their duty to protect Wakanda is done. It was said that when my mother died, this Panther began to prowl the borders of our kingdom two days after her funeral. It was accepted that she had inhabited the animal and continues to watch over the kingdom to this day.”

Vision considers the information as he watches the large cat pace along the trees before disappearing. “How do you reconcile the illogic of belief with the logic required for your technological advancement?” It is not until the words leave his mouth that he considers they may be taken with offense. Luckily, T’Challa smirks as he surveys his kingdom.

“Is there not logic in belief?”

“I do not perceive logic in it, no.”

The man next to him sits more comfortably into his chair, the casualness of it surprises Vision. “But belief serves a particular function in society. If people deny belief they would lack community and shared experience. Yes logic is vital, but straight logic can never unite as strongly as belief. Thus I consider belief to be a logical way in which we form relationships.” T’Challa glances over to read the look of contemplation of Vision’s face. “Let me use a specific example, one you may better understand.”

It has apparently been twenty-seven minutes because T’Challa waves away the Dora Milaje who is checking on them. “My apologies, they are perhaps too good at their jobs. They report all behavior to me with so much efficiency it can occasionally take me several hours to process it.” There is an implication hovering in the air but it is quickly discarded as he continues. “ Anyway, consider love. Love itself is highly illogical, particularly today. In prior eras marriage was based on resources while now we have this belief in love. But the thing that love does is to unite people under a cause whether it be small and personal or of national importance. The act is illogical, but considering the end result, there is much logic in the evolution of love.”

Something akin to worry grows in Vision’s chest and reaches his fingers and feet with an unnerving sense of weight. “ I am not sure why you believe I would understand that more.”

“Feigned ignorance is not a way to lead your life. What is a more logical reason for you being here?” Multiple logical reasons for his involvement come to mind but Vision does not present them, the man before him has revealed himself as not being one to suffer falsehoods or partial truths. “Speaking of your purpose here, I have a proposed amendment to the Accords.”

As the conversation shifts, the uneasiness fades from Vision. “I would be happy to hear about it.”

T’Challa places a document on the table between them. “I find the section on testing abilities quite problematic. There will never be one entity that can fully test or comprehend all of the abilities present on the Avengers. Thus I believe there should be a process by which each Avenger, through UN approval, may select an individual or agency who would be best equipped to test them. For instance, you could select Wakanda to examine your abilities as we are more intimately aware of the structure and capabilities of vibranium. We may also have some experience with stones such as the one in your head.”  Vision opens his mouth to inquiry further but a hand held up towards him stifles the words. “I have already sent it to the UN to consider separate of your other amendments.”

“Thank you, your majesty. It is an excellent idea.”

T’Challa stands from his chair, stretching his limbs as he reaches his feet. He turns and smiles warmly at Vision. “Thank you for the conversation.” He begins to walk away before stopping to glance back. “Vision?”

“Yes?”

“There is the possibility that the testing amendment be the only one that passes and I continue to house fugitives. You would then have a government approved reason to visit. We would make sure the testing be quite long and extensive.” The man winks at him and saunters smoothly out of the room leaving Vision with many thoughts but few words to describe them.

 

The sunset in Wakanda is one of the most beautiful things Vision has ever seen, but when the stars come out he is left speechless. It is a good thing they are so distracting because there is a hollowness growing in him as he realizes there will be no visitors. No Wanda. The proposed amendments and several books sit in neat piles on the table, but they have not been touched since T’Challa left him.

The door opens and his heart (which he realizes now is too easily stirred) does a nervous twist in his chest. But, as was the case with the last ten times his door opened, it is merely the guard. He believes she may be worried about him. Each time she comes a little closer, inspecting his demeanor with apparent detached interest. “Do you need anything?”

They must be truly concerned, he has yet to actually speak to one of the Dora Milaje, despite his best efforts. “No, I do not require anything. Thank you.”  And with barely a sound the woman is gone.

He is unsure how much time has passed, though the positions of the stars confirm it has been several hours, when he feels it. It begins as a tiny point of despair in the back of his mind, so small he shrugs it off as some misfiring of neurons. But it grows and it grows until it engulfs his every thought. The despair is fuzzy, there are no edges nor reasons for it to exist, but it undulates forcefully through his mind. Suddenly he understands. Wanda is having a nightmare. He has not felt this sensation for so long and it concerns him that he did not recognize it sooner.

Driven solely by instinct, he stands and begins moving in the direction of the fear. Vision does not realize he has left his room until a very real pain erupts in his stomach. Upon investigation he finds a spear embedded in his body. This is technique 15 of disembowelment, what will come next, if he resists, will be a push forward and then a clockwise twist and lift. He determines the best course of action is to stay still.

“Get back in your room.” There is no emotion to the words, her stoic face rivals him at his best , and so he simply nods and phases back through the wall.

The waves of Wanda's nightmare wash over him as he anxiously paces around his room. There are guards in every direction, each likely armed and ready to disembowel him if need be. It is as he is investigating the possibility of flying from his balcony that he hears the door slowly open. Vision leans back to assess which guard it is this time but instead sees a tangled mess of brown hair hanging around timid, bloodshot eyes. “Vision?”

He quickly floats to her, reaching out but stopping just before they touch. “Wanda, are you okay?” Luckily he does not have to determine what is an appropriate action as she falls into his chest, sighing when he locks his arms around her. They half walk, half him carry her to the bed where he prompts her to sit down. “Do you require anything? Water? Food?”  Wanda shakes her head, burrowing into the pillows like she always did to at the compound. He wavers between joining her (his strong preference) or standing guard a few feet away in case she desires distance.

“Please stay.” The words fumble from her lips as she gently intertwines her fingers with his and tugs him onto the bed. His body has no resistance against her plea but he does flinch at the sudden pressure of her collapsing on his stomach. “Vision?”

“Sorry, I was stabbed earlier while attempting to find and comfort you.”

Wanda pulls away, though he finds that he would rather be in pain than have her out of reach. Her eyes hold contemplation and perhaps curiosity. “Can I see?”

The request cannot be denied and so he phases away his sweater to show her. Wanda's pale fingers look so strange against his red skin, as they gently circle the wound, lightly poking and prodding. He decides that he must keep watching her for fear that if he doesn't she will no longer exist but for the sensation of her fingers. A hiss escapes his lips when she presses down.

“Sorry!”

“It is okay Wanda, I am just not used to feeling physical pain.”  

Her hand and body pull back again and he almost misses the brief blush on her cheeks and the way her eyes take in his bare chest before she makes eye contact. “I told you they could hurt you here.”

“You did, and now I understand.” Contentment bursts forth in his mind when she smiles and curls her body against his, her hand splayed on his chest, one finger making lazy circles on a strip of vibranium. If he simply ignores the room they are in, he can easily imagine being back at the compound before all of the fighting and the pain . “Do you wish to talk about your nightmare?”

Her hand begins to make broader sweeps of his chest, tracing every line of vibranium available to her. This had become her nervous habit when she prepared herself to talk about things that made her uncomfortable. She told him several weeks before the Accords how there was a calming power that radiates from the vibranium, and so he never denies her, particularly because he relishes the sensation of her hand and the closeness that it requires. “It was about the Raft.” She does not speak again and he does not urge her to, they have established a routine of silence in the wake of nightmares. Eventually she always talks about it, but he allows her the time to regain her composure before delving into the troubling issues. “Can I,” her fingers stop moving while she pauses, “just show you?”

“Of course.”  Within seconds images begin to flow into his consciousness. There are guards who sneer and guards who taunt, but this nightmare concerns a guard standing over her, a button in his hand. He is aware of the shock collar, Mr. Stark had informed them of the treatment of their friends, it was why he reached out to Captain Rogers about helping break them out. But, he had never actually seen it and now he can feel her memory of it. The currents cause the muscles to seize and the mind to falter, there is no feeling other than debilitating pain and then he can see as the ground gets closer when she falls. The after effects are no better, convulsions ripple through her body. But the whole time he is feeling this, the only image Wanda is showing him is the smile on the guard’s face. At the very last second of the nightmare, he can hear her thought. It is simply: Why hasn't he saved me?

She does not speak after leaving his mind. Vision turns towards her and wraps both arms around her body, burying his face into her hair as he whispers how sorry he is and how he wished that he could have come sooner. They lay in silence, one of his hands running through her hair and the other running along her back. He believes she is crying, but he cannot tell and does not wish to disentangle long enough to check. Eventually he can feel her body relax, muscles loosening and molding against him as she brings her own arms around him. “It is okay, you are here now.” Her voice beckons him to finally look down at her and his mind grows fuzzy at the way her eyes are shining up at him and the smirk on her lips. Slowly her hand draws his face to hers and their lips meet.  It is not the first, nor the third, nor even the tenth time they have done this, but it is the first since everything has happened. And like the very first time they tentatively experimented with the action, it is chaste and brief, a reassurance of feelings had more so than a declaration of passion or intent.

When she pulls away she settles back onto his chest and falls asleep.

 

The sun has barely begun to peek through the trees when one of the guards approaches the bed. She does not hesitate in approaching him, even with Wanda still snugly against his body. “Mr. Stark wishes to speak with you.” Vision notes the phone in her hand and reaches for it. Once it is in his possession the guard returns to her post.

“Mr. Stark?”

“Vision! Why are you whispering? Also put me on video.”

He regrets taking the call, worry at being caught in such a seemingly compromising situation at the front of his thoughts. With some reluctance Vision phases slowly through the bed, making sure that Wanda’s head does not fall too quickly onto the pillows. His sweater returns as he walks to the balcony and then he switches the call to video. “Sorry, it is still morning and I did not wish to be too loud.”

Tony waves at him which leads to Vision awkwardly waving back, unsure what else to do. “So I hate to do this, but General Ross is getting antsy about you being gone. He wants you back tomorrow with whatever it is you all have come up with.”

“I am not sure if we will be done.” Which in translation actually means: I am not ready to leave. He works hard to not glance back at Wanda.

“Well you don't have a choice. Get done what you can and head back in the morning.” Tony grimaces in an empathetic show of how much he does not like it either.

Vision nods at him. “I will leave tomorrow, thank you for informing me.” He goes to hang up but is stopped by the voice of Rhodes.

“Hey Vision.”

“Rhodes.”

“How are they treating you?

Vision considers how to answer and how much detail is required. But having lived with the two men for so long, he figures short is best. “Well, they have been fairly receptive.”

Tony takes the screen back from Rhodes. “Show us your room, I was informed you would be living the life of luxury.” Vision hesitates and it is apparently quite readable. “Come on, there must be cat pictures everywhere. Show us!”  He is aware that the only way to make Tony desist from such activities is to give in and so Vision carefully walks them around the room, making sure to keep Wanda and the bed out of sight.

Though he tries hard, Vision realizes that he cannot control all variables as a voice is heard by all. “Vizh?”

Vision panics and fumbles to hang up the phone, hearing right before it is cut off “Is that Wanda?!” He immediately receives a message from (he presumes) Rhodes: _Remember we talked about not getting in too deep. Definitely includes sleepovers_. And a second message (presumably from Tony): _My son is becoming a man! So proud._

“Good morning Wanda.”

“Who was that?”

“It was Mr. Stark.” She freezes and looks at him with wide eyes. “He said I must return tomorrow.” What follows is not what he expects. Instead of commenting, Wanda glances at the ground and leaves the room without a word.

 

Vision, though he does not believe in omens, is beginning to consider their validity as the final Accords meeting is crashing around him. Everyone easily agreed to make visas more available but the notion of personhood has been met with resistance bred from some level of ignorance he had not thought existed.

“I get that it is important, but I honestly think including this may get everything else rejected. When it comes down to it, I want to see my family again,” Clint is leading the charge, though Vision does not think it is with malice . “If parental leave is outside of the Accords, so is this.”

Sam, in his professional capacity of group therapist, mediates the discussion as Wanda looks close to tears and Vision has dealt with enough bad news for one day that he has simply stopped talking. “But Vision made a good point, Thor would fall under this as would any other new being or species we may encounter in the future. Might as well be proactive as opposed to reactive.”

“I still don't quite understand how Thor lacks personhood.” Steve has been fairly supportive in his attempts to understand the issues.

Scott isn't adding much. “He looks like a dude to me.”

Vision, deciding to try again, glances at the red in Wanda's eyes before proceeding. “But Thor is not the same species and thus does not have equals rights. Neither would any other new Avenger if they come from elsewhere. Given the existence of Asgard and the other realms, there is little statistical doubt of other intelligent life. If I recall correctly,” it is a phrase he uses when he wants to put the others at ease because, in actuality, he always recalls perfectly, “The Avengers dealt with an alien invasion.”

“Yeah, but I'm not giving those aliens the same rights as me, and how are we to know if something new is good?” Clint stares at everyone, seeking approval. “Why not just decide on an individual basis? Or make this a separate document from the Accords?”

There are some nods in favor. Vision is unsure what to label his emotions. Though they have been discussing the matter for a couple hours, no one is willing to acknowledge (besides himself and Wanda) that this is to benefit him and his basic rights. He always assumed his own team saw him as a person, but the immense weight of their omission of him in the talks is hindering his ability to think clearly.

It is as he spirals deeper into himself that the pressure of a hand squeezing his own pulls him out. Wanda, though she only looks at him, is talking loudly enough for everyone to hear her. “They do not understand; not like we do. They have suits and weapons, things they can take off, dissociate from themselves. We,” she squeezes his hand with more force knowing he can handle it, “are perceived as freaks, too different to be categorized with the norm. But I know the truth.  You, we, are just as human as them.” Wanda waits until he meets her eyes, a gentle smile there to reassure him, then her eyes go red and she looks to the room.  “If you do not agree with this provision then you lose my vote on approving the rest.”

Silence descends for the first time that day, the faces around the table attempting to determine if she is bluffing. Sam, as is his nature, is the first to speak. “I think we should take a breather, come back and discuss later.”

“I agree.” Steve’s words dismiss them and everyone shuffles out until it is just Vision and Wanda.

“They will come around.” Her hand does not leave his.

“If it is necessary to drop it, then I,” he watches as her eyes narrow, daring him to finish his thought. After everything that has so far happened, he finds that he lacks the energy to challenge her look and so his lips seal themselves into a straight line.

“They have danced around their prejudices long enough, but it does not mean they dislike you. To quote a wise man ‘no one dislikes you.’”

“Except Clint.”

Her laughter never ceases to salve his troubles. “Yes well Clint can...” the Sokovian curses that follow would make Vision blush if he was physically capable of such a thing.

 

For his last night in Wakanda, Vision finds himself back on his balcony, staring at the stars. He will miss them greatly, only second to Wanda.  It is a strange thing, to know that he is leaving but to have nothing to pack or signify the change. The team is currently having dinner to discuss the final version of the Accords. It was determined that it would be best for them to do so without him, likely so they could talk about him. Humans are odd in their inability to discuss someone who is present but then speak of them incessantly when they are not there. Wanda promised to stop by and inform him of the decision once they are done.

When the door opens, he turns to welcome her and is met with a soothing hug. “They agreed to keep it in.”

“That is good.”

She unlatches from him, though her arm continues to brush against his. There is a wistfulness to the way she looks out at the jungle but he can note lines of worry branching from her eyes. “Do you think it will work?”

The question, or at least as he perceives it, is layered with many meanings. Unfortunately he is not sure he has an answer for any of them. “I think there is hope. The UN is eager to resolve the conflict and nothing is too egregious as to hinder it. I do worry about the sway of General Ross.”

The wind carries her sigh past his face and he watches as Wanda fiddles with her rings. “And what if they don't pass? What then?”

“Then we rework the amendments, garner feedback as to why they were denied, try again.”

Wanda turns to face him now, frustration building as tears in her eyes. “And what if it never works?”

“Then,” Vision catches her fingers with his hand, running his thumb along her rings and relishing the sensation of the metal and jewels as his skin passes over them. “I believe I have grown quite fond of Wakanda.”

There is silence as she eyes him, a question clearly plastered on her face though he assumes she is just as afraid as he is to bring it up. “It is a beautiful place.”

Now the question must pass to him, but he is unsure if he can ask it. Since seeing her again, he has been paralyzed with thoughts of what they are and how he should act around her. The desire to pick up right where they left off is stronger than any of his other thoughts or feelings, but so much has happened. The way she is looking at him, eyes shining in the starlight and her lips pursed ever so slightly as to (he hopes) incite some sort of lust within him, suggests that she has a clearer idea. “Wanda, I do not know how to act around you.” Confusion dashes across her face and he feels as if he needs to elaborate. “Our relationship was in a state of transition before, and prior to the Accords I was confident that I could hold you or,” his voice falters with the next thought, “kiss you if I desired. But now, I do not know if it has changed. Do we continue on or do we go all the way back to ‘Look again?’”

Wanda shifts her eyes away from him, glancing down at their still joined hands. Her eyes then travel to the jungle and the room before finally resting on his face. When she does speak, it is so quiet he is not sure if she actually spoke or if she is projecting the thought into his mind.“What do you want?”

His heart briefly stops beating at the way her body is curving towards him, craving some set of words that he is not confident he can fully explain. But he fears if he waits any longer, if he does not say something within seconds that she will forever be gone. And so he thinks back to what he loves most about her presence. “I have read that the way a person laughs can, overtime, create lasting lines on their face. It is my desire to observe such lines form on your face and, even more, that I am responsible for their formation.”

There is a moment where the only thing he can hear is the susurrus of the jungle and he is concerned that he has been too focused in his words. But then her face erupts into a breathtaking smile. “Me too.” And suddenly she is in his arms, her lips upon his, both hands holding his head in place. There is perhaps 1/1000 of a second hesitation before he brings one hand into her hair and the other runs along her spine, causing her to shudder in a way that undoes any sense of control either of them has. Their bodies pull as close as possible and then they are stumbling over furniture and tumbling into the bed, laughter and sighs interspersed with the way they unabashedly capture each other's lips. As his hands travel up her thighs she pulls away, worry blooms in his chest that he has gone too far, but the wicked grin on her face almost causes his mind to shut down. “Are you sure about this Vizh?”

He finds that he lacks words, staring at her with mussed hair and pure, unadulterated lust in her faintly red eyes. So he simply nods, hands running slowly up and down her leg.  Her grin grows mischievous as she lightly touches the mind stone. In contrast to the last time she took control of it, this time her presence is soft and comforting. He finds then that she has phased him out of his clothing and it causes a laugh to rise out of his chest at her unbridled enthusiasm. “Is that how this goes, then?” As he pulls her back down to his lips, his fingers grip her clothes and he shifts their density so that the clothes simply fade away and are tossed aside. He knows then, the way that she is laughing into his mouth, that he has just formed the first of many lines on her face and that it is more beautiful than anything in the universe.

 

It is only later, when she is still naked and curled into his side under the covers, that he finally contemplates what happened. Rhodes had told him not to get in too deep and he fears that there is not much deeper he can go. But he is confident now that, even though he must go back to New York in the morning, their connection is stronger than before. Even if she haunts him, and she will because he knows that he will feel the sensation of her hands running along his body and the way she felt pressed against him, that it is out of longing to return to the certainty of her unlike the last time they were apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said this story was going to only be 3 chapters, but then this got out of hand. The next one is for sure the last one!


	4. The Slow Shift to Normalcy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The remaining Avengers take the new amendments to the UN for a vote, and then get to enjoy the bureaucratic crawl back to a life of normalcy.

When Vision arrives at the quinjet he finds that everyone is lined up waiting for him. Steve approaches first, reaching out to give him a firm handshake. “We really appreciated your help, good luck back there.”

Sam starts with a handshake but then pulls Vision in for a one armed hug. “Take care.” Scott decides this is an opportunity for a group hug and Vision finds himself sandwiched between the two men. 

Though he is not holding an arrow, Clint still holds a subtle threat in his eyes. Which is why his parting words surprise Vision. “If you make it possible for me to see Laura and the kids, I will build a statue of you to keep on the farm and everyday at 3pm we will hug it.”

“I will hold you to that.” And for the first time Clint actually smiles at him. 

Last is Wanda. He can feel everyone watching them with interest as she wraps her arms around his waist and they hug for a long time. Vision is unsure when next he will see her and so, despite their audience making him nervous, he cups her face in his hands and lowers his head down in order to kiss her deeply. Sam whistles from behind them and Scott (“Oh my god, this is amazing!”) attempts to initiate another group hug, but Wanda stops him with a wall of red and smirks into Vision’s mouth as she wraps her arms more tightly around him. 

“Dear God, don't you need to breathe?” A grunt can be heard as Clint is hit with a red burst that knocks him to the ground. 

When they finally part, Vision reluctantly pulls himself from her arms and turns to Clint. “I do not actually need to breathe, but thank you for your concern.” 

Whatever is said next is merely background noise because Vision focuses on the cadence of Wanda's laugh as he glides up the ramp. With one last look, one last moment of eye contact with her and the brush of her mind against his, he closes the ship and begins the journey back to New York. 

 

Vision makes it to the compound in the late afternoon. His landing party (or so the banner hanging on the wall calls it) consists of Tony, Rhodes, and ten fully armed marines. 

“The prodigal son has returned!” Tony approaches him with open arms and Vision allows him a brief, albeit awkward hug. Rhodes hangs back and throws out a simple “Hey Vision.” Vision flashes a brief smile at them. “General Ross wants to speak with you first.” And his smile drops.

“That would explain the rest of the party.” He says it lightly but the last thing Vision wishes to do is speak to Ross. The soldiers surround him, though he notes they are not as intimidating as the Dora Milaje, and lead him to the conference room. It is a small comfort to know there are large windows so everyone can watch them. On several previous occasions he had been interrogated in tiny rooms with no windows or lights, which based on his experience and the movies he watches with Rhodes, are commonly where terrible things happen. 

General Ross sits at the head of the table, a green folder resting under his hands.  “Vision, please have a seat.” As Vision sits he watches the man open the folder. “How was your trip? Productive, I hope.”

It only took two meetings with the General and his people for Vision to determine that the less words the better. Every extra syllable will be analyzed and then brought back as an accusatory question the next time. “It was.”

“I'd like you to hand over all materials from your talks before anything reaches the UN.”

“No.”

“That's an order Vision, not a request. Noncompliance leads to decommissioning.”

A tense and heavy silence fills the room. Vision knows that if he hands anything over that it has a strong likelihood to disappear or come back unrecognizable.  Though he spent the journey back completely censoring all mention of Wakanda, Ross was never informed of the location of their teammates, in this moment he questions how thoroughly it was done. But most prominently in his thoughts is an image of Wanda from that morning, waking up in the golden light of dawn, with a devilish grin and distracting him from leaving at his desired time. If he ever wants her back, he cannot comply. “That was not in our agreement, or did you fail to consult page 5, section 2, article 4 of my negotiation strategy contract?”

They stare at each other for several minutes before Ross flips through his papers. The corners of his mustache droop as he closes the folder. “I see. Then consider it a strongly recommended request.”

“The answer is still no. If that is all, I would like to leave so I may prepare for the UN summit.”  When no commands are issued, beyond a cold stare that promises troubles down the line, Vision pushes back from the table and phases through the wall. 

Rhodes and Tony are waiting for him when he comes through. “How'd it go?” Before Vision can answer they all watch General Ross and his people quickly exit the building. Tony claps a hand on Vision's shoulder, “Looks like you pissed them off. You just,” Tony wipes away a fake tear as he exaggerates the next part, “keep making me so proud, my son.”

“Alright,” Rhodes turns his chair and begins heading for the kitchen, ”Well I'm hungry and we have a lot to cover, so let's get going.”

As they eat dinner, Vision provides them with a detailed account of all of the discussions. He might omit some things, primarily concerning his time with Wanda. Once he is done and they have had a chance to read over the amendments he fields any questions. “Okay,” Tony has underlined several areas on the paper and seems to consider which is most important, “Let’s say the UN only accepts some of these, do you know if there are any that we could safely drop and still get them to sign?”

“I believe, for most of them, the personhood and government-community programs could be dropped and still be desirable enough to acquiesce.”

Rhodes and Tony exchange a look that indicates this is an issue they have discussed, but neither wants to be the one to speak. It is Rhodes who finally loses the staring contest. “Are you okay dropping it?”  

“I…” there has been a battle raging within Vision's mind since the last meeting in Wakanda.  He can either bring Wanda home at any cost or he can fight for this provision but risk Wanda staying in Wakanda indefinitely. “No. I am not okay dropping it.”

The two men smile at him in relief. “Good.” Tony pours himself another drink, offering some to Vision, who declines. “I wouldn't let you. I cannot tell you how hard it is not to punch Ross in the teeth every time he threatens decommissioning you.”

“But you call me your robo-son.”

“It's just a term of endearment.”

Rhodes rolls his eyes at Tony. “What he's trying to say is that no one should call you anything but a person, and since we don't have Wanda here right now to police it, we are going to stand in for her. That includes at the UN.”  

 

While the rest of the compound sleeps, Vision finds himself outside of Wanda’s room. Though he has not experienced any phantom sensations, he is still a bit wary of entering her previously haunted space. Slowly he phases through the door and turns on the lights. The room still looks exactly as it did the night she left the compound with Clint, though he never let the dust settle and makes the bed after each time he uses it. There is a pile of clothes threatening to spill from the closet, a guitar pick wedged into the book of sheet music he bought her, and a candle (long burned out) on the nightstand next to a copy of the Martian Chronicles. She had asked to read it after coming across him with, as she put it, a mind clouded with concern. He had explained it troubled him immensely to see the destruction wrought by holding so steadfastly to the past. 

Hesitantly he picks it up and leafs through the pages, curious how far she had gotten.  He stops at the pressed flower bookmark - a lilium superbum. A smile ghosts across his lips, this was the flower he gave her the first night she ever kissed him. With a sigh he settles onto the bed and begins from the first page of the book. Perhaps now he will more fully comprehend the motivations within the pages. 

Vision is on the last story when the door to the room slides open “Thought I’d find you here.”

“Good morning, Rhodes.”  

The man enters the room and glances around. “We have to leave in an hour.”

“I will be prepared and to the ship by then.”  

“Sounds good.”  Vision assumes their conversation is over and so he reopens the book but Rhodes has not left the room. “How are you doing?” 

It is a question that he has not put much thought to, mainly due to seeking out whatever distractions afforded him little to no time to ponder such things. “I,” he glances at the flower bookmark sticking out of the book, “am doing much better. It was a fairly therapeutic trip.”

Rhodes appears genuinely happy at his words. “Good to hear. You and Wanda sort everything out?” Vision catches on to the suggestive nature of the question, mainly due to how Rhodes’ smile slides to the side the way it does when he and Tony tell salacious jokes. 

“As much as could be sorted in a short amount of time.” 

“Play coy all you want, but be prepared for Tony to play a round of 20 questions he is theming ‘hiding the rhubarb.’” 

 

In the relatively short flight to New York City, Vision is thoroughly embarrassed and Rhodes has paid Tony for an unspecified bet. 

When they land, a small contingency of ambassadors meet them, handing out schedules and related documents. They are then shown to a hotel suite where they are to remain the rest of the day. 

“This is a fancy prison isn't it? Not sure why we couldn't stay at one of my places.” Tony walks around the perimeter of the room, identifying every security camera and device meant to keep them in. 

The room is the same size as the one from Wakanda, though the decorations are more traditional and the furniture tamer, Vision finds he does not like it as much. A small camera is resting on the bouquet on the table and he reaches towards it, sending a small electrical pulse into it until it blinks off. “You will get used to it.”  Vision continues to explore the room as Tony and Rhodes unpack their suitcases and choose their preferred places for the rest of the day. They waver between talking about the Accords and filling him in on all of the threats from General Ross while he was gone. Rhodes once tries to leave but is kindly escorted back into the room. 

When the door opens it somehow surprises them to watch T’Challa enter. “Avengers, how are you doing?”

Rhodes approaches the man and shakes his hand. “Better now that there seems to be some true movement on this.”

“Yes, they seem eager to reach an agreement on the Accords, though you will face strong opposition from the U.S., South African, and Nigerian ambassadors.” Vision watches as the king gracefully moves across the room and picks up another camera, tossing it into the trash can. “They are not used to being told to spy on their guests, but General Ross insisted.” The disgust in T’Challa’s voice drips from each syllable. 

“How is it that you know who is against us already?” Tony stretches out on a chaise lounge, which seems to be the perfect furniture item for him to appear both haughty and relaxed. 

“My apologies, I forgot that it was not as widely publicized.”  The man makes eye contact with Vision before continuing. “Today the UN almost unanimously approved a new testing provision to the Accords. I believe it can be found in your folders.” 

Hope springs forth from deep within Vision's chest. If they fail, which he is increasingly less confident about their chances, he will still have a way to Wakanda. “Thank you for informing us, your majesty.”  He is almost unable to get the words out, thoughts consumed by the possibilities. 

“It is my pleasure. I shall not waste more of your time, but do know that Wakanda stands behind you. Sleep well.” T'Challa exits the quiet and contemplative room, Tony and Rhodes now engrossed in reading the unknown provision. 

 

The waiting room is a miniature version of the hotel they stayed in the day before, depersonalized floral fabrics and tasteful, wire tapped bouquets. None of them have spoken since entering the room, instead paying attention to the rise and fall of the roll call. Eventually the voices stop and the door to their room opens. Tony lets out the breath he has been holding and smiles at Vision and Rhodes, “Time to talk as smoothly as we look in these suits.”

They are ushered to a table at the front, a camera trained on them, projecting their faces onto two large screens on the wall. The prominence of their faces and the seemingly endless rows of people watching them makes Vision nervous. A small smirk crosses his face at the thought of discovering he has a mild fear of public speaking at such an inopportune time. 

A man, the Secretary-General, seated at a raised table in front of the entire UN, stands and lifts his arms. “I call this special meeting concerning the potential amendment to the Sokovian Accords in session. Since we have all discussed the amendments in a prior meeting, today has been reserved for questions and voting only. The floor is open.” 

Anticipation hangs in the air as the three men glance back at the assembly. “Nigeria, you have the floor.”

It is difficult to see the ambassador from Nigeria, but they can hear her voice emerging from the speakers on their table. “I am concerned about granting amnesty to the fugitives. Coming from a nation deeply impacted by the gross negligence of the Avengers, my people want justice for Lagos.”

Additional voices can be heard naming their other perceived failures: Leipzig, New York, Sokovia, Johannesburg. The day before they had all agreed to allow Tony, being the de facto leader of the Avengers, first dibs at the questions. As if a switch is flipped inside of him, a swagger of confidence overtakes every movement of his body.  “I agree.  There should be accountability for our actions, which is why we all signed the Accords and why the amendments keep accountability at the center.  Yes, we could have handled Lagos better, but had we not been there it would have been worse. I think the justice for Lagos will be knowing that it was impetus for the Accords and greater accountability. But we all should realize that retroactively enforcing laws is never a good thing.” 

“What if we only grant amnesty to some of the fugitives, Johannesburg has not forgotten the affect the Witch had.” Vision strains to find the ambassador who is speaking, barely attempting to contain the frown forming on his face even though he knows it is easily seen by everyone. 

Tony shakes his head, an irritating cockiness in the way he shoves his hands in his pockets when he says, “No can do, either they all get it or none of them get it.” 

There is a flurry of movement that draws all eyes when a voice booms down into the room. “I would like to motion that we vote without further debate. We have scrutinized this enough already.” T’Challa, from his position at the microphone smirks down at them.

The Secretary-General at the front hesitates before speaking to the room. “It is unprecedented to so move a special assembly without full debate. You must be seconded.”

A chorus of “Seconded” rings out. 

The room falls silent as ballots are passed around, Tony, Rhodes and Vision stare at each other, unsure what is happening or how they should behave. And so they simply wait. 

 

In Wakanda, everyone is huddled around a television with a live stream of the Accords hearing. “Why is this taking so long?” 

“Scott, asking is not going to make them count faster.” Sam tosses a pillow at him before leaning back into the couch. The vote has been going on for almost an hour and there is a general feeling that it should end soon. Wanda, for her part, is only able to keep from pacing nervously by focusing on the way Vision is standing absolutely still on the screen. His right hand has not moved from the table, and she recognizes the habit, he channels his uncertainty into assessing the density of a surface nearby to keep from losing control of his own.  The leader of the UN begins to speak and she thinks he may dip slightly into the ground.

“Everyone shut up!” Clint glares at them before looking back to the screen where the man reveals the news.  

“The votes are as follows: 92 for, 85 against, and 15 abstentions. The amendments are passed.” There is a blur of motion in the room and Wanda is swept up into a group hug, though her eyes continue to take in the relief spreading across Vision’s face. 

 

Vision approaches T’Challa later that night at a banquet being held in honor of the new and improved Accords. “Why did you not tell us your plan?”

“Sometimes it is opportune to be left ignorant,” he tilts his head towards Tony, who is popping another bottle of champagne, “the Avengers had to be united behind passing the amendments. Had you all been cognizant of my lobbying for votes, perhaps conversations that needed to be had would have been left unsaid.” 

 

 

Three weeks after the amendments are ratified there is a press junket broadcast worldwide. The Avengers convene at the Wakanda consulate, seated at a long table. Cameras flash on and off as General Ross, a face so neutral it borders on disdain, speaks to the crowd. 

“Based on the ratification of an amended Accords, we wish to show you that the Avengers agree to be in full compliance of the document.” He waves back to the table, those who previously signed the Accords are interspersed with those who did not.  

Wanda is seated five people from him and Vision struggles to keep his eyes forward as the General speaks to the press. The most they have interacted is a brief brush of a hand during their pre-signing meeting, but it does not stop Wanda from entering his mind and bathing his thoughts with the warmth of her affection.   They all raise pens as instructed and sign the document in front of them. Applause are heard as they are led from the room and taken back to where they are staying in the consulate for the evening. 

The drawer of the nightstand contains a schematic of the building, and Vision, much to his delight, discovers that his room is directly below Wanda’s. The guard changes every hour, but it is an instantaneous switch and Vision has not discerned a pattern to when he is ever alone. Ross, in his meeting packet, made it clear that there was to be no fraternizing and the guard is enforcing it with annoying aplomb.  But then, in a moment so quick he is unsure if he accurately perceives the change, the guard's’ eyes switch to red and she informs him that she must check on his Majesty.

Vision rises from the chair and phases through the ceiling where he is met with a hurried embrace and eager lips upon his mouth. His fingers sift through her hair before tracing the line of her jaw.  The way she moves against him is intoxicating, so when she pulls away he closes the distance again, rewarding him with a broad smile. “Vizh.”

“Wanda.” 

“The guards are walking back down the hall.”  

Tears form in the corners of her eyes, contrasting the gentle smile still on her face, and he does his best to wipe them away before kissing her one last time. “You will be back at the compound soon.”  The door begins to open and he phases quickly through the floor until he is casually sitting in the armchair, waving nonchalantly at the guard as she comes back into the room. 

Vision startles at the phone ringing next him, tentatively picking it up. “Hello?

“Robo-son, next time you want to sneak around disable the security cameras. Amateur.”

 

 

They had all assumed the transition back to the compound would happen quickly, but as Rhodes keeps pointing out, bureaucracies can only move so fast. The UN, though having ratified the amendments, had to determine the best method to meet the new provisions. Vision, Tony, and Rhodes meet with lawyers at least once a day to discuss the issues of amnesty and discretion. The matter of visas has yet to be broached and Vision begins cleaning the compound late at night to cope with the uncertainty of Wanda's return. 

Finally, three months post signing, they are allowed to bring the first two Avengers back, and Vision cannot help but smile at the excitement on the faces of Clint’s kids and Scott’s daughter. Laura, whom he had met a few times, stands beside him, wringing her hands nervously as they wait for the quinjet. “They will be here soon.”

She smiles at him before facing ahead again, concern rippling from her. “I just don't know if I punch him or if I hold on to him so he can never leave again.” 

“Why not both?”  

Laura's laugh echoes through the hangar and lightens the mood of the people waiting. The kids all begin to circle Vision asking him questions:

“Can you fly?”

“How do you go through walls.”

“Where's your cape?”

“Why are you red?”

The questions are overwhelming but he does his best to answer them, all while floating and phasing through the ground to their enjoyment. It is when the hangar doors open that everyone falls silent and watches the quinjet land. 

Scott lopes off the plane first, bee-lining straight to Cassie and Hope, scooping them up into a dramatic hug. Clint is next. He cautiously approaches his family, attempting to gauge the amount of trouble he is facing. 

The Barton kids show no reservations as they swarm around him (little Nathaniel tottering unevenly with a drool filled smile on his face) and Clint bends down to embrace each one. With Nathaniel still in his arms, Clint stands and shyly approaches Laura.  “Can you hand Nathaniel to Vision?”  

Their confusion is palpable and Vision himself is terrified at the notion of holding such a tiny human. The exchange is awkward, Vision is unsure how to properly contain four flailing limbs and wonders if the amount of drool on his shoulder is a sign of poor health. He raises a finger in front of the toddler’s face and phases it between incorporeal and solid, which elicits a high pitched giggle and more drool. The sound of Laura's fist connecting with Clint’s jaw draws everyone's attention. 

“What was that for?” 

“For being a selfish idiot!” Laura glares at her husband for several seconds before launching herself into his arms. “Don't ever do that again! We need you with us.”

Nathaniel is the first to lose interest in the reunion and decides to latch on to Vision's shoulder, gurgling happily at the long line of drool running down his sweater. He is so distracted by the wet spot that is increasing at an alarming rate that it takes Vision 2.5 seconds before he realizes that Clint is trying to shake his hand. “Thank you, for bringing me home.”

“It was my pleasure.” Vision shakes his hand and then offers to give Nathaniel back. “Oh Clint, I have decided the statue would look best with my cape, so keep that in mind when determining the location.”

Clint grins at him. “You son of a -”

“Clint! Language!”

“Sorry dear.” He turns back to Vision. “I have just the place, actually. I was even thinking of making you one of those little fountains that only wear a diaper and shoot water out their mouth. Very tasteful.”

 

The next person to return is a surprise to everyone. It is late at night and Vision sits in the kitchen, filling out the forms to request his testing take place in Wakanda. There is a cooling mug of tea next him that he has no intention of drinking. His heart flutters when a hand reaches down and grabs the mug. 

“It's just me.”  Natasha sits across from him and sniffs the tea before drinking it, and his foolish synthetic heart stops beating for a moment before continuing on as usual. “You make good tea.”

“I have worked hard to perfect the ratios.”  They sit in silence studying each other. The last time he saw her was at the Raft breakout, and then she disappeared without a word.  “Welcome back.”

The corners of her mouth lift all of 3 degrees to indicate she is pleased to be back.  “You were quite impressive with the whole amendment process.”

“Thank you,” Vision glances at the application in his hand, fingers moving along the now dried ink. “Though it is not as quick of a change as hoped.”

“They’ll all come back, sooner or later.”  The only time they have ever purposely touched is during training and so he is momentarily paralyzed at the weight of her hand squeezing his own. They do not speak again, but the next morning he can hear yelling coming from the kitchen and knows that she has been discovered by Tony. More importantly, it sounds just as it did before she left and he can sense that everything is slowly working itself out. 

 

When it is time for Sam and Steve to arrive, a visibly agitated Tony and a fairly calm Rhodes join Vision in the hangar. A day prior, they had set up what Tony called the official “Discretion Detector,” based on recommendations by the UN, the Avengers were granted more discretion but only at a minimum level of destruction. Tony, channeling his nerves about Steve’s imminent return, crafted a light up board in the common room that tracked the level of destruction for any potential crisis. Once the screen reaches the red portion they are allowed to go without orders. 

“This is taking forever.” 

“They're last e.t.a. was 5 minutes.” Vision finds that Tony’s nerves are rubbing off on him, and he is beginning to feel impatient. Thankfully it is only three more minutes before the doors begin to open and sirens warn everyone to stand clear. Sam and Steve walk off the ship together, talking jovially about something until they reach their welcome party. 

Tony is the first one that Steve approaches. “Rogers.”

“Stark.”

The silence that follows is deafening and every other person in the room waits for one of the two men to break it. Tony sighs, nerves washing away with the dropping of his shoulders. “Good to have you back.”  

“Good to be back.” 

Sam takes this as his time to greet everyone with handshakes and pleasantries, his calm friendliness an energy that has been sorely missed at the compound. “Vision.”

“Sam.”

“Sorry if this is awkward, but I promised Wanda that I’d pass along her message.” And Sam dramatically leaps into Vision’s arms and hugs him. This is much more awkward than holding a baby and definitely not the same as holding Wanda, and so Vision pats Sam’s back gently before placing him back on the ground. 

 

With Sam and Steve officially back, life at the compound begins to shift into a new routine. Sam often cooks with Vision, showing him the proper ways to season (and importantly how to identify the seasoning) and prepare various meals. Steve makes everyone feel guilty for not working out enough, and so they begin a morning run schedule, which has full attendance for about a week before people begin to drop off, favoring their beds to the cold morning air. Despite a generally content environment, the Accords are still a subject for much debate, particularly when their hands are tied. 

“Steve, look at the board, where are we on it?”

Vision glances at the board, noting they are still in the yellow, and then watches Rogers’ fists clench. “Clearly we need to do something about this.” Explosions are going off in Chicago, the cause unknown but it is suggested that it is something generally unnatural. Steve is already suited up, his recently recovered shield strapped to his back. 

“We have to wait until we hit the red.” The tone of Tony’s voice is one that is commonly used on petulant children demanding candy at the grocery store.  “You signed off on this.” 

They all watch on the news as another building collapses and with the explosion the Discretion Detector slides into the red. “Now?”

“Is it red, Steve?”

Rogers turns towards everyone with a smile on his face. “Avengers, suit up!” Vision shrugs away his sweater and slacks, bringing forth his cape and bodysuit as they prepare to leave. 

 

Though life is normalizing, the absence of Wanda is an abyss that the others tiptoe around. Vision calls the same lawyers every day to determine the status of Wanda’s visa (they swear it is almost ready) and to see if the UN has approved his testing request (they are looking into it). Steve travels to Wakanda every couple of months, each time he goes Vision sends a handwritten note to Wanda. It is something he starts doing as a way to calm his thoughts late at night when the need for her is the greatest. Whenever Steve comes back, he brings with him a note from Wanda, and for a time, it is enough to keep them content. But it has been almost two years since the Accords originally were crafted and Vision is unsure how much longer he can continue to function without her. 

The intercom in Wanda’s room turns on: “Vision, we need you in the hangar.”

He places his book on the nightstand, briefly surveying the now spotless room, and then slowly phases through the compound, startling a few people along the way, but mostly avoiding anyone. Once he reaches the hangar he finds Sam and Rhodes deep in conversation. “Sam, Rhodes.”

“Hey Vision.” Sam breaks away to smile at him. 

“What is going on?”

The two men glance at each other before pointing towards an approaching quinjet. “Just thought you’d like to be here when Steve gets back.”

Once the quinjet lands and the doors open, Vision is rendered speechless. Wanda is standing at the top of the ramp, a breathtaking smile gracing her lips, the wind blowing her dress in a wavelike pattern. Several seconds pass before Vision begins gliding towards her and she meets him halfway, leaping into his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist and her lips finding his with ease.  Nothing else exists except for the woman in his arms, the feel of her body pressed against him, and the hint of tea upon her lips. If there is such a thing as true bliss, Vision knows that he is experiencing it in this moment. Wanda eventually needs to come up for air, and so she pulls just far enough away to look him in the eyes, smirking at the way he is completely under her spell. “I’ve missed you.”

Vision runs his hands along her back, lost in watching her eyes light up when she says the words. “I have missed you as well.” 

 

Wanda is curled into Vision’s side, her hand resting lightly on his chest, when they reach the climax of the movie. He and Rhodes have returned to horror movies, having grown tired of political thrillers and an unsuccessful attempt at romantic comedies. The popcorn bowl begins to levitate, wrapped in red as Wanda grips his chest. 

“Come on, Wanda, I can't see with all this stuff in the way.”  Rhodes swats away a pillow from his face and throws it at Vision.  

“Sorry!” Everything drops to the ground, spilled popcorn blanketing the carpet. Vision considers that perhaps it is time to move on from such movies. 

Once they reach the end, Rhodes claps his hands on his lap. “Well, I need to get some sleep. Good night you two.”  

“Good night, Rhodes.”  Vision glances down, running his fingers through her hair. “You should sleep as well.”

There is a look in her eyes, one that he finds causes physiological changes in him, such as increased heart rate and dilation of his pupils. She pushes herself up and then swings her right leg around him, straddling his lap while bringing both hands to cup his face, thumbs tracing the lines around his mouth. “I have a better idea.”  The way she kisses him, unhurried and casual, as if time does not exist, draws his eyelids down. 

“I think,” his mind stops as feathery kisses fall upon his neck, “that is an excellent idea.” 

“Can't you two at least wait until I’m out of the room?!” But neither of them are paying attention.

 

Life finally begins to feel truly and utterly normal. 

 

“You're so confident that you're going to win.” Vision’s hand freezes over the chessboard as he curiously glances at Wanda. “It's cute.”

Their daily game has experienced an evolution in strategy, where Wanda first wages psychological warfare in an attempt to make him rethink his approach. He places the piece on the board. “I am confident.”

Air dismissively escapes her lips, causing him to pay extra attention to her next move. Casually she picks up a remaining knight and he is unable to figure out the rationale for its placement. “Did you know that T’Challa loves chess as well?”

“I was unaware.”

“He told me he wished he could have played you, but he had to settle with teaching me his ways.” Wanda smiles at him, a subtle predatory slant to her lips that puts him on edge. “You are obviously surrounding my queen and will take her in three turns. Right?”

“That,” there is no gentle caress to indicate she is in his mind, “is the plan. Though you have made no attempts to hinder it” 

Wanda’s shoulders lift and fall with enough force to knock her sweatshirt off of one shoulder. Now begins stage two of her strategy: physical warfare. “Your turn, Vizh.” 

He ignores the way she leans towards him and instead focuses on the movement of his piece, sticking with the plan he had already set in motion. As he picks up the rook, her hand falls on top of his and moves it with him. “You are not going to distract me from winning.” 

“No?” 

“Okay.” The sound of Sam’s exasperated sigh reaches them. Vision had, somehow, forgotten the man was reading in the chair off to their side. “This has become uncomfortable. I'm going to the store, text if you need anything.”  

“Check mate.” Vision’s eyes grow wide as he turns to first look at Wanda's smirk and then examines the board. There was no conceivable avenue for her to win and the unchanged board confirms this. He finds his face scrunching in confusion which causes her to laugh. “Perhaps we were playing different games, but we now have the entire compound to ourselves.”

And stage three of her strategy is in play: distract him enough that they never truly finish a game and so she never actually loses. It is an effective strategy, though he does hurriedly attempt to move the pieces around as much as he can before she settles onto his lap, legs thrown over the arm of the chair. “I do hope this is not what T’Challa taught you.”  

Wanda grins at him while wrapping her arms around his neck. “He actually told me I was a lost cause unless I was willing to read my opponent’s mind the whole time.” 

“It is a fair assessment.”

“Hey!”  She laughs as he leans in to stifle her retort with his mouth, the chess game already forgotten. 

 

It is late at night, as they lay in her (their, she insists) bed, legs tangled, her fingers languidly tracing the vibranium on his chest, her breath hot on his neck, that Vision realizes how stunning life can be. “Wanda?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” She kisses him softly before snuggling into a peaceful slumber. Whenever she sleeps in his arms, Vision finds that his thoughts inevitably careen towards the possibility that someday his synthetic body will outlive hers. Though it still troubles him, he has become aware of the intertwining of her soul with his and the repercussion that there will never be a time nor place when she is not part of him. Yes, he considers, fingers absentmindedly playing with the ends of her hair, Wanda Maximoff will haunt him for the rest of his life and it is ineffably beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's it. This was by far the most difficult chapter to write and I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for all the kudos and comments throughout the way, they are all greatly appreciated.


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